


Sunset (chasing the night towards you).

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [5]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Comfort, Dancing, Fear, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Sexual Tension, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: “I need you to promise me something.”“Anything.”“Promise me that you’ll never die.”





	Sunset (chasing the night towards you).

**Author's Note:**

> I actually was meant to work on another one of my works today but everyone was so nice in the comments on my last Parles fic so I just decided to write it. This is day three of Pierre's visit to Charles.

         Charles was sleeping very soundly. Well, until something was thrown at his head. Immediately he shot up, his field of vision blocked as he tumbled to the carpeted floor of the living room (narrowly missing slamming his chin against the glass coffee table). He groaned, pulling whatever was on his head off and throwing it away from him at the other end of room. Still exhausted, he rubbed his hand over his eyes and led his gaze up a pair of long legs until a face loomed in from above.

         “Get up and get dressed,” Pierre kicked his clothes over to him and then turned back into the kitchen.

         Charles cursed audibly, putting his face back on the floor and shutting his eyes. It was barely light, only a sliver of shine coming in apricot and pale from the coast horizon. He felt himself dozing off once again when rough hands shook him and he jolted back awake. “God, Pierre, what time is it?”, he eventually sat up and put his face into his hands.

         “Seven in the morning,” they smiled cheerily, bending down and slipping between the couch beside him. The luminescence was filtering in stronger now in sharp lines across skin that made it glow. Usually Pierre was late to bed and late to rise, even if Charles wasn’t an improvement he typically fell asleep after him but woke before him.

         He rested his neck back, allowing the column to lay open. “Why the hell are you awake so early?”, he asked groggily.

         Pierre shrugged, taking a sip from a coffee mug he already had cupped between his palms. “I want to get the most out of the day,” he pecked a kiss to a spot by his ear which made Charles squirm before patting his knee and standing back up. But Charles knew fully well the meaning: _I want to get the most of you, of us_. It is difficult to remind himself that this was just a visit and nothing else. He sighed and he could vaguely hear Pierre humming in the kitchen. He rose and began to slip on the pair of jeans that were crumpled where he was just sleeping minutes before. A cup of coffee was waiting for him on the kitchen table when he dressed and stumbled past the door frame. Immediately, Pierre pulled out his chair and he plopped into it, holding up his head with a curled fist beneath his chin.

         “Look at that,” he angled to look out of the window and the rising sun. Charles took a sip before moving his head towards the sight as well. It was beautiful, the hues of marigold and honey encircling dusty rose clouds. When he swung his head around Pierre was still observing the sky, his eyes became lifted and all the strands of his hair were on fire, wrapped in the gold. The blaze came through his fingers. Beautiful sure, but nothing was more electrifying than that image. After a moment he reached across the table casually, his pinkie finger catching on the edge of their palm. Pierre rounded his head, turned his glimpse down to look at this before grabbing the rest of his hand on his. Maybe they knew just how much these little moments with them mattered to him.

 

___________________

 

         The front door shut behind them at eight in the morning with Charles pushing Pierre by the small of his back out the front gate towards the street. They walked a few streets away and Charles can practically feel the radiance of how much Pierre hankers to lay his touch on him, to grab his hand or his waist. At a coffee shop on the corner Charles coils a fingers over one of their belt loops and tugs them into the shop. It was quiet, it had only just opened and the whir of the coffee machine was silent.

         “Go take a seat,” Pierre motioned to a table perfectly overlooking the cross section of four streets. Charles went into his pocket to dig out his wallet but they caught his wrist and pushed him gently in the direction of the table. “Don’t worry,” he nodded, “I got this.” They returned a few minutes with pastries and tea, setting it down on the table. By now the sun had already risen and the day had commenced. Charles regarded silently as bikers zipped by and the buzz of energy was beginning to escalate over Monte Carlo.

         It was curbed as they began to eat. “You know,” Charles swallowed and Pierre glanced in his direction for the moment, “This entire time you have told me nothing of how making your GP2 debut as been,” he leaned forward expectedly with a smile.

         Pierre grinned and pushed his empty plate aside. Charles enjoyed getting him into a fervor such as this, one where they could talk for hours despite their usual shy nature. It is as if with every sentence they speak they become more and more beautiful and he is surprised there was a single moment where that wasn’t the first thing he thought of. He enjoyed the sparkle, the gleam that flash over the admiral of their irises whenever they spoke of things they loved. Charles poured more tea and did just that: listened to. It’s all humans really ever need, right?

 

______________________

 

         It is ten in the morning when they clabor off the stone steps back onto the city street. Pierre slips an arm rapidly around his shoulders for a moment, leading him into his side. “What would you like to do now?”

         Charles cuts him off, pauses their direction and brushes his fingertips over their lips. “How about we don’t think?”, he inquired, lowering his hand and tugging on Pierre’s arm, “We can do whatever we want to.”

 _We can conquer anything_.

 

_____________________

 

         The rocks by the shore are sparkling in the bay by the time they arrive at the beach. Pierre is stepping cautiously on the razor sharp stones as he makes his way towards the water’s edge. The lap of the sea foam water is enticing them as they crouch and dip a hand into the sloshing, bent waves.

         He points his head back around and shouts over his shoulder, “It’s warm!” Charles nodded and they rotated their attention back towards the sea. He shielded his eyes from the sun at its near mid-point in the center of a clear teal sky. He puts a hand out onto Pierre’s shoulder to balance himself as he totters too near to the edge.

         “Are you interested in going in?”, Charles questioned, digging his fingers farther into the sheath of their shoulders. “It’s October, you are going to freeze your ass off,” he chuckled but the look Pierre gave him as he dusted off his hands and started back to the shore was all the answer that he need. It is impossible not to be romantically involved with the world when the sky constantly makes love to horizon.

 

________________________

 

         “Be careful!”, Charles shot out a hand like a torpedo and snatched for the back of Pierre’s sweater. A tiny gasp escaped them and Charles felt his eyes drift for a moment over the edge of the tall cliff. The rocks below appeared like tiny, pearly sharks just waiting for someone to fall over the edge into the shallows.

         Pierre frowned and took a giant step back. Charles could feel that their arms were trembling. “When you said secret spot, _this_ was not what I imagined!”

         “Don’t worry,” Charles smirked and pressed both his thumbs into the bed of their wrists to soothe them. They appeared visibly tense, their jaw clamped and shoulders ridden with tight tension. “The secret spot isn’t up here,” he gestured to a side path descending down the high edge, “It is down there.”

         Pierre’s eyes widened dramatically, “Absolutely not!” He stepped back towards the bushes and the way that they came but Charles maintained his grip on their arms, tugging them back towards him. “You remember I have a problem with--”

         “--Fear,” Charles interrupted, “You have a fear not a problem.” It was in good humor but Pierre huffed, pouting. “We are walking down not jumping you big idiot,” he slugged him in the chest gently.

         “We are going to slip and fall to our deaths.”

         “At least it will be together,” Charles joked and another crash of breaking waves resounded below them making Pierre swallow.

         “Very romantic,” he rolled his eyes, “But I prefer to actually be able to see us in Formula One in the future, not in the morgue.”

         It was quiet between them, a light hearted but unfinished reticence that would end up broken eventually. Charles allowed his touch to plunge, his brush trailing down their wrist until their fingers laced together. His other appendage came up and tugged the arch of their neck towards him until their ear was right next to his lips (his lips met the shell of it). His breath whispered through delicate wisps of his hair.

         “Do you trust me?”, he holds them closer still. He grabs hold of all their fears and presses them like a flower into the pages of a forbidden book. They never hesitate, they lock eyes on his and their shoulders lower as if a weight has been lifted from it.

         “I never haven’t.”

 

__________________________

 

         Halfway down Pierre begins to quiver more and Charles can sense it when he grabs his shoulders. He is swaying dangerously.

         “Charles--”

         “Just do not turn around,” he coaxes him softly, sliding down another stone and wincing as his knee scrapes against a sharpness. They hush after that but continue to exhale heavily every so often to disquiet the frantic tempo with which their breathes are tumbling.

         Sheepishly Pierre whispers out, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Charles can see that his own grip is slipping out. He slaps out a hand and curls it around their ankle.

         “Yes, you can,” Charles lowers, his hand losing contact with him. They both couldn’t be more than a few meters from the bottom. “You can’t win a F1 world championship if you are dead.” This managed to get them moving again for the meanwhile.

         Eventually Charles got to the bottom and guided his hands over Pierre’s hips to help him hop down. As soon as their shoes reached the sand they let out a large gasp of air as if he’d been drowning and had only now come up for air. They tumbled and put their head between their knees. Charles crouched beside him, running a hand over the line of his spine, leaving over their shoulders.

         “Breathe, Pierre, you just have to breathe.”

         They followed this, sucking in a huge pocket of air that was only halted by a hiccup or hitch in their lungs. He led his fingers over to their jaw and lifted it gently. Pierre dug his face into the caress and shut his eyes peacefully.

         “Better?” Charles postulated back up and planted his hands on his hips, blowing the stray sea-blow hair out of his eyes.

         “I swear to god, I am going to murder you!” He shoved him at the chest and Charles beamed.

         “You love me too much to do that.”

         “Yeah,” Pierre mused thoughtfully, “Maybe I do.”

         When their hands swept over his back, they were cut up and bruised; when they kissed once again his lips were still trembling and he could taste their fear as it mingled on their tongue.

 

_________________________

 

         “Why did you choose this place?”, Pierre was lying on his stomach in the sand with his back to the sun. Charles is parallel beside him on his back and he tilted his sunglasses up on his forehead to peer at him.

         Charles shrugged simply, “I know lots of places such as this, I kept myself occupied as a child.”

         Pierre sat up and leaned on an elbow, “But of all the places, why this one?”

         That question made Charles mute and he rolled over onto his back. “Jules used to bring his little siblings here, sometimes he’d take me.” He can picture himself now as he scopes back over the mountain and the valleys of his memory, a scrawny eight year old the first time he descended the cliffs. He was a lot more frightened (less than Pierre), nine years younger too.

         “It is a nice tribute do not you think?”, Pierre alternated and hasped one leg over him, placing hands on either side of his frame to guard him. For a short minute they kept eye contact until Pierre jumped up, stretching out a hand towards him. “Why don’t you come for a swim with me?” Charles hesitated for only a moment before taking his outstretched hand.

         The water was, as expected, actually freezing when they got into it. Pierre quickly discovered this when they ran in because he cursed loudly and let out a sharp holler than echoed over the sheltered cover encompassing them both. Charles shivered and his frigid hands gripping at Pierre’s slippery, bare shoulders. He wrapped his legs over their waist and Pierre lifted him up by a constraint to his hips. He enjoys how they flood his thoughts and give him these awakening dreams that adore him beyond the depths eyes can see.

 

______________________

 

         It is getting darker when they stumble into a cozy but populated club a few blocks stretch from the coast. The plus was that they never asked for an ID. Inside it is obscure and besides a few flashing multicolored lights there is barely any type of visibility. They steal a round, risen table a little ways off from the bar counter and Pierre comes back with two beers in hand. Charles snatches his and takes a gulp immediately that makes Pierre raise his brows.

         “You understand how fucked we are if they find out I am underaged and drinking here?”, Charles leans a hand on his head but not from exhaustion; it is the excitement of it all, the thrill of, and perhaps even the possibility, getting caught. There is a dance floor too and several people have bumped the back of his seat already. Not naturally his scene but he is willing to give things a try (because this is Pierre’s).

         “Very fucked,” Pierre giggled in response but neither can distinctly hear a thing due to the volume of the atmosphere.

         After a long occasion with only the shitty music pounding through his ribs to accompany them, Charles slithers down off of his chair, giving his drink a last few shreds of attention and then latching onto Pierre’s shirt to rip him out of his seat. “How about we dance?”, he doesn’t wait for a response, his hands is looped over the ring of their wrist as he is pushing through the crowd as if some divine forth is guiding him there. They get there, on the floor, and there are a dozen other bodies pushing and prying up against them. For some odd reason, Pierre looks a little unsure until Charles clasps his hands and guides them to his hips. He tangles his arms over the back of their neck. Their eyes change, they narrow and both of them are closer together in a swift movement, chest to chest. His eyes are sparkling with a spark of mischief or a hint of danger. He is asking them, begging them:

 _Come, let us escape for a while_.

         That is when Pierre digs his nails into his skin, pressing against him and Charles knows when he gazes up in his face, through the stiff determination as a tongue pokes through greedy, desirous lips replies:

 _Okay, darling_.

         The tension pins itself, splays itself over both of their shoulders, thrusts them together. It is something else he witnesses in their eyes, something far deeper. Clouds of that morning (so peaceful and quiet, the orange and pink); close your eyes (they see each other there too); imagine the sunset (it chases the night towards you); just a swirl in the sky (they are). But he is acting as if he wants to tear him away, to rip all of the clothes off of his body and finish him off right there on the floor in front of hundreds of eyes. It is so hungry, that longing, Charles feels it in pit of his stomach coiling and burning deep within his abdomen. He is so breathless that when Pierre moves until his nose firmly against his and they are adjusting in time without knowing any rhythm, he is gapping.

         His mouth falls open and he can nearly taste their sweat on his tongue. He can almost imagine himself on top of him with his head tossed back, throat revealed and vulnerable to their soft lips like a blade. He imagines Pierre like this too, eyes dipped in passion and shut with the swipe of his hair over his eyes and his bare chest bruised. Their hands are soft, so delicate and yet rough, pleasurable in every way. The scent of perspiration and moans that are drawn out from a bated breath. Touch like satellites and pin pricks. Bodies raw and running his mouth from shoulder to collar up the carve of jaw. It is all this that makes it matter. Tousled hair and flushed cheeks, curves of silhouettes and a rhythm that cannot compete.

         God, and Charles yearns to undress him slowly so that he can savor the electric sparks his fingers will make as they brush over his skin. _I will strike the match, you bring that candle, that means we will have an equal chance of becoming burnt_. Neither try to communicate a thing, and even if he did, Charles would stab the cuff of his fingers over the line in their lips, _no words tonight_ , he’ll shake his head, _just move me and I’ll move you_. He narrows his grip on their clothing and there isn’t a single shard of space between them like two broken halves being stuck clumsily back together with glue. Everything was exposed and yet no one else would notice the seductive air between them. As if the entire time his lips are wondering:

_What are you waiting for?_

         He leads Pierre off of the dance floor and they drop a few crumpled bills on their table as they pass and exit into the city streets. Charles didn’t know how long they had been in there but it is night now and the stride back home couldn’t be any longer. He felt as though the entire sky were scrutinizing him beneath a starry microscope. Pierre’s hands are brushing against their waist as they walk. They get to the house and before the door is even shut, Charles pushes him against the back of it, slamming his lips onto his as if he was a meal and he hadn’t seen food in decades. It is something he needs, someone he requires to make him feel whole.

         His hand slides up their shirt, brushes over their warm stomach and beneath his fingertips they loosen. He tugs his shirt up over his head as they stumble up the stairs leaving a trail of clothing behind. Pierre kicks the bedroom door open with his heel and they’re on the bed, Charles reaching his hands down while pressing his lips to the column of their neck to unbutton the top of their jeans. They let out a soft moan, gentle and soothing to him. It sends shivers up the shafts of his spine and through every cell. That’s when Pierre sits up, turning and laying him down on the pillow on his back. They scoot down to his lower stomach, between his hips.

         Charles allows his head to tumble back. “Is this okay?”, he asks, arching his head back up for a second.

         Pierre snaps open their fly with a glance in his direction, “Yes.”

         Charles clamps his eyes again. It is sudden and from nowhere, no place at all but it steals the breath from his lungs and makes him wonder if there are was any there to begin with.

 _Jules_.

         Pierre drags his pants down to his ankles.

 _Jules_.

         Pierre grips at his inner thigh.

 _Jules_.

The touch runs higher and higher.

 _Jules_.

         Higher still.

 _Jules_.

         Higher.

 _Jules_.

         “Stop,” Charles snatches his wrist. They sit up slowly and he shoves their wrist back against their chest as if giving back the affection in a messy little box.

         “Are you okay?”, they are concerned, folding forward and shoveling a lock of hair behind his ear. “Did I do something?”, he questioned, ripping his hand away as if he’d been burnt, “You have to tell me, Charles, did I do something to hurt you?”

         Charles shakes his head, “No, no, please, it’s not you, believe me.” Their shoulders decline and their head tilts slightly to the side as if posed with a question they will never ask. He places his head in his hands, “I am so stupid.”

         Pierre scoots closer until he is side by side on the headboard, “You’re not stupid, don’t say that, you are never stupid.”

         “I am,” Charles swallows and his throat tighten and eases. He brings his knees up to coddle his head and blinks at the corner of the room watching as everything begins to blur. “I overthink things and I care too much,” the tremble in his voice wilder, more untamed than before.

         “Well,” Pierre put an arm around his shoulders, “What are you thinking of then?”

         But he doesn’t want to tell him that all he can picture is Jules wrapped up in a foreign hospital time zones away with tubes and machinery practically moving everything for him. He wonders if there is even a speck of their friend in that body. “Jules,” he breathes, rubbing at the tears brimming his eyelids, “I am thinking of Jules.”

         Pierre stiffens, his shoulder frozen but not without maintaining their usual warmth. “I have been too,” he whispers and Charles notices the utter loss of confidence in his tone. It’s not just Jules; it is Pierre too. He tries to push the thought of Pierre in the same circumstance away, them miles and miles away with gauze and surgical equipment keeping them far apart forever. “But he is strong, I swear he’ll be alright, Jules is too strong to give in,” he places his lips into his hair and moves his head into the crook of his neck. Charles knows his tears are raining on their skin as if watering a garden of flowers to grow there for everyone to see. He accepts this somehow.

         “But what if--”

         “What if what?”, Pierre interrupts quickly.

         “What if it was you?” There is a long pause.

         “Then I’d want you to be strong for the both of us,” he murmured against his shoulder.

         Charles lifted his head, “What if I can’t?”

         Pierre cups his face with his hand, depresses his thumbs gently into his cheekbones to rivet him in the eyes. “Your presence alone is strength enough for the both of us.”

         Charles nestled his head against his chest, trailing little, meaningful circles into the abs of his stomach. “I need you to promise me something.” 

         “Anything,” they sigh.

         “Promise me that you’ll never die.”

         Immediately Pierre is up and glances at him as if a gunshot had gone off in the middle of the night. “You know I can’t,” he blinked, “Nobody can.”

         Charles slams his hands against his chest and pushes him back down on the bed, he looms above him, peers him in the face and pins him down. “I need you to, please,” he begs and a plea is weighing down his bottom lip as he speaks. His knuckle leave to brush over their brows and across the shape of their nose, down towards their lips and then their chin. “You can’t leave me, not like that.”

         Pierre meets the side of his face with his fingertips and Charles reclines into the touch. “Do I have to say it again?” Charles opened his eyes, “There is nothing you can do that will make me lose my love.” He buried his ear, into their chest into the calm of his heartbeat. In a matter of seconds he had fallen asleep with the loneliness dripping softly and slowly away. The world outside can be forgotten for a little while. He catches it before he is lost to dreams for a hours, a phrase whispered solely for him:

         “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual you can find me on Tumblr @sonofhistory or @pieregasly I really, really appreciate comments (support your younger writers on here!) and it motivates me to write more (I respond to every one). Thank you for reading!


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